


Little Bit of History Repeating

by flight815kitsune



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Loki (Marvel) Lives, Short, may or may not add the bad dad express heading to earth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-09 18:00:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15273141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flight815kitsune/pseuds/flight815kitsune
Summary: Left for dead, Loki gets picked up by Tony and Nebula





	Little Bit of History Repeating

This was entirely too familiar- the disorientation and the dawning realization that he was not as dead as previously anticipated.

He could breathe, however, and that was a start. That was an improvement he could cling to with his spider’s thread of awareness as the rest of the world fell into place.

Everything ached. A low, throbbing sort of sensation more akin to the rhythmic crash of waves against a cliff than anything he can pinpoint within his own being. He could move, hypothetically, but it doesn’t exactly seem worth the trouble and, as he wasn’t sure of his current surroundings, might not be the wisest course of action.

By the ambient noises and the metal beneath the hand not currently lying across his chest he is clearly on board a ship of some kind. The taste of recycled air is a familiar one.

The image of the Titan who believed himself a god discarding him, of killing him, is all too clear.  Was he on a damaged ship with a crew of corpses sailing an empty sea of stars? Was he a trophy that his captor still had some purpose for, a cyclical history repeating with no regard to his wishes?

“Is he dead?” The female voice is far too familiar and it takes effort not to flinch from it. One of Thanos’ children. It _was_ to be a repeat of his first fall from the rainbow bridge.

“I have no idea.” This speaker is male and familiar but he cannot identify from _where._

There’s the sound of shifting feet. Not a footstep, merely the weight going to a single foot.

A high-pitched whine that calls to him is so _very_ close, then. It is not the tug of unfinished spellwork but an open well of energy usually associated with wild magic. He knows that energy source better than he could ever know the voice. Stark.

He wasn’t expecting the sensation of metal-clad fingertips brushing along his jawline while seeking a pulsepoint on his throat.

His intake of breath at the contact is sharp and his abused airway makes it’s protest known.

His eyes snap open to Stark looking down on him. While it was not the first time he had viewed the other man from this exact angle, the differences between then and now could not be more apparent.

“Morning, sunshine.” Stark leans away. The years have not been kind to the so-very-mortal man. He’s grey in all the wrong places, the weariness etched in every line of his face, his voice holding barely-restrained grief. His eyes are glassy and this close he reeks of blood and ashes. His face is bruised and scratched. The armor is clearly damaged, and his left hand is trembling where it hangs at his side. He can’t hide the discomfort from his expression as he rises to his full height. He has none of the spark in his gaze he had wielded so wonderfully the last time he had smiled down to a broken god on the floor at his feet, and none of his companions at his side.

Loki’s torn between laughter and a sob but instead the sound that escapes is nothing but a searing exhalation. There is only one immediate cause that comes to mind which would have put that expression on Stark’s features, and it does not bode well for the universe at large.

Stark flinches as though the noise pained him as much as it had the man who breathed it, and whatever question he imagines he sees in Loki’s face he answers with a soft, “Yeah, we lost too”. The understated honesty of the words and the weariness embedded into every syllable is clearly meant as a kindness.

The scoff from the cockpit draws his attention, though turning to stare at the one who made it was a regrettable action that threatens to steal his breath once more.

Her eyes are dark and dangerous lit only by the soft glow of the instrument panel and the faint light of the distant stars. Her gaze is black glass and it is impossible to see anything but _predator_ . Her lip pulls up in a sneer and the even white teeth do nothing to make her look less like a shark. “This isn’t over until Thanos’ corpse is at my feet, or until I take my final breath. We may be losing, but we have not _lost_.”

He wishes he had the energy to embrace the fire in her words. They even make Stark perk up a little. Not much- enough that he raises his chin and swallows down on some of his grief. But his family is gone, his people are slaughtered, and the Mad Titan reigns-

“What do you say, Merlin? Want to be an Avenger?” Stark runs his gauntleted hand through his hair before tugging it free and frowning at the metal. His eyes are wet, he looks about one cutting remark away from shattering to pieces, and the hint of desperation in his tone demands at least a heartbeat of consideration.

Stark’s hand isn’t shaking when he offers it.

His family is gone. His people are slaughtered. The Mad Titan reigns.

He was still numb, to the death of Odin. and seeing Stark echoing his father’s actions with an outstretched hand while looking far more broken than the Allfather ever was _pulls_ slightly. Not in the way a cat’s claw catches fabric, a loose thread tugging the weave around it into a new marled position, more in the way a small insect struggles futilely in a spider’s web. It marks a great change for the insect, and the entire web vibrates with the desperation of it, but the structure stands strong. He would not fall to tatters from it. He would not let go.

He couldn’t afford to. Just as his time spent with the Grandmaster, this may be a stepping stone to something greater (or at the very least something _different_ ) but it was a necessary pause to lick his wounds, take stock of his assets, and plan for something beyond it.

He takes the extended hand the way he couldn’t on the rainbow bridge what seems like an eon ago.

What did he have to lose?


End file.
